


Doctor/Patient Privilege

by MyDearStalker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, Rivalry, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDearStalker/pseuds/MyDearStalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bedelia and Hannibal sate their desires in unconventional ways. When they discover each other's secrets, they're torn between rivalry and a working relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confidentiality

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is fairly light going sex and violence wise (all the good stuff?). Non con is for later, but Hannibal does get a little touchy with Bedelia early on. This may not stand up in the light of season two. 
> 
> **Chapter Summary**
> 
> Hannibal makes someone swallow their tongue. Bedelia drags someone out of her basement.

When Bedelia clasped a thumb and finger around her watch, Hannibal saw the small shrug of a shackled woman adjusting her bonds, not the casual movement of a bored colleague. He felt a small curl of desire unfold in his chest. 

Hannibal flexed his control in rare, betraying moments like this. The purposeful adjustment of clothing, the larger-than-normal distance between patient and doctor, the way Bedelia sat so still, as if she were afraid to make a sudden move. Hannibal was a man with focus, but when he blinked, sometimes he saw blood dribble from the corner of Bedelia’s lips, he saw bruises around her neck, a tear in her blouse. He fancied Bedelia saw them, felt them too. Their unfinished business lay between them, begging for attention.

It was almost a year since he had followed Andrew to her practice. He had slipped into the waiting room when he knew it to be vacant, listened to the muffled voices behind the door. He regretted Bedelia’s death. He couldn't precisely say he was sorry, because the woman was dangerous and knew too much. But it was regrettable. Their history together had created a certain type of bond, he thought to himself, as he quietly entered her office. 

Bedelia rose quickly when she saw his figure loom in the doorframe, but Andrew remained seated, spluttering angrily at the interruption. He was an angry man, a bully. No one would have trouble believing he’d attacked his doctor. He’d attacked doctors before. 

Bedelia moved swiftly until her chair stood between her and the man blocking her exit. Hannibal swiftly knocked Andrew on the temple and he fell limply to the floor. Reaching into his mouth, he folded Andrew's tongue back until his body began to shake, begging for oxygen. When it was still, he turned to face Bedelia. 

‘This isn’t necessary, Hannibal.’

‘I’m sorry, but I disagree.’

‘Keeping secrets is part of my profession. I can keep yours.’ 

Hannibal advanced until she was backed against her desk. Bedelia’s hands fumbled under its rim, until Hannibal produced a rope that ensnared both her wrists, locking them together. Hannibal’s hands snaked up her side, over her hip. He leaned in close to her neck and inhaled her scent, a potent sweetness laced with something else intangible, something that wasn't quite fear. He pulled at her blouse, dislodging buttons, and stroked the rise of her breasts with the back of his hand. His hips pinned hers against the edge of her desk. She didn’t beg, which surprised him. Under duress, most people fell apart, no matter how rigid their veneer. When his hands encircled her neck, she began to kick, but Hannibal held her firm, thumbs pressing into her pulse. She swore at him, and Hannibal was once again surprised to find that it wasn't fear that had been making her shake, but anger. Death was always revealing, he mused.

He had almost finished when tires crunched on the gravel outside. 

Hannibal lurched back, and Bedelia drew in a ragged breath. Weakened, she fell to the floor. Blue and red lights flashed on the background of her wallpaper, and Bedelia managed a soft laugh into the carpet, though it punished her throat. She had managed to finger the panic button after all. 

Hannibal swiftly removed the rope that bound her wrists. When the police burst through the door, he was helping Bedelia to her feet, maintaining a controlling grip around her waist.

A patrolman stayed his hand on his gun and raised another to signal that his colleagues should do the same. Swiftly, he appraised the situation. 

‘What happened here? Are you alright ma’m?’

‘You will need to call an ambulance. Dr. Du Maurier has been attacked by her patient, who in turn seems to have experienced an epileptic fit. I fear you are too late to help him, but she will need attention.’

The patrolman was slow to react. 

‘I am Dr. Lecter. Andrew was a former patient of mine, and I was concerned for Bedelia’s safety. Rightly so, it seems. I arrived just in time.’ Hannibal explained, patiently. His grip on Bedelia was firm.

‘I see.' said the patrolman, relaxing. Someone scrambled to fulfill Hannibal's suggestion. 'Well. Thank goodness you were here, Dr. Lecter.’ 

‘Yes.’ Managed Bedelia, through the pain in her throat. ‘Thank goodness.’

_____________________

 

Bedelia would be the first to admit that her relationship with Hannibal had taken a turn. 

She had gone home that night shaking with anger. She felt weakened (something she couldn’t abide), and as a result, she had lost her temper. 

Her first mistake had been her inattention. She should have heard Hannibal’s footsteps as he approached his office, should have closed the draw and sat in the armchair with her legs neatly folded, drink in hand. But the man was quieter than a snake. She had jumped as he put a hand on the nape of her neck, slammed the draw to his desk shut. But it was too late. She knew, and so did he. 

She wondered how Hannibal had let her leave, walk out of his office as if nothing had happened. But despite her instincts screaming danger, she had kept her appointment with his referred patient more out of curiosity than anything else. Trying to force his hand, maybe. She had felt watched, like a little mouse, and she couldn’t stand feeling so powerless. 

Her second mistake, perhaps her biggest, was losing her temper.

Bedelia had a violent temper, something the girl in her basement knew well. It was always there, subterranean and cold. A hatred of losing control meant that her temper made itself known in accurate licks of the whip, in the precise calculation of how much pain the body could take, in the unfeeling way she muffled screams of agony. Bedelia was nothing if not exact, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had let her anger overwhelm her.  
It was humiliation that had encouraged her to break. Bedelia was strong, but she was no match for a fit psychopath. She herself gathered her victims by the careful application of poison. She found it neater. Hannibal had shown her the weakness in her own body, and she hated both him and herself for that. And so, it was in a temper that Bedelia descended to the basement the night after her attack. 

Her heels rang on the metal steps and through her anger, she barely heard the whimpers of the girl that lay in chains on the floor. Unusually without preamble, she grabbed her by her hair and dragged her out of the basement and into the light. 

This time, Bedelia’s actions weren't about training a person to respond to her whim, they were about making herself feel better, soothing the wound Hannibal had opened inside her. As she rained the first volley of blows onto her victim, she felt a voice in her head frown in disapproval. She ignored it.

Her third and final mistake was letting the girl out of her bonds. 

She wanted to pull the girls arms apart, exposing her breasts and stomach, she wanted to spread her legs. And she didn’t think the girl had the strength to run away. Bedelia miscalculated.  
As she had turned to retrieve the riding crop, the girl had found some reserve of inner strength. She had risen and bolted for the door, and may have made it out into the night, if Hannibal hadn’t been standing in the way of her escape. The girl ran headfirst into his chest, and he grabbed her wrist to steady her. 

‘Please…’ she cried, looking desperately into his eyes. ‘Please help. I’ve been here for days. Help me.’

Bedelia watched as Hannibal’s gaze rose to take her in, standing wild eyed and hair uncharacteristically ruffled. With a riding crop in one hand and blood marking the floor, there was very little chance of hiding what this was.  
But Hannibal merely smiled. 

‘Well, it appears we both have secrets.’

And so they had come to an agreement, of sorts. Hannibal didn’t need to threaten Bedelia with violence, only exposure, to ensure that she kept his secret. He requested weekly sessions with her. Sessions that reminded her of his control, where the threat of violence was unspoken but present, a sneering foundation to their pretense at therapy. Bedelia icily submitted to the charade. But they both knew this to be a temporary solution. 

Once again, Bedelia adjusted her watch.


	2. Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal goes for a late night snack. Bedelia punishes Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, Hannibal's method of getting a victim isn't original. What am I, a serial killer?  
> This is my first fic, so thank you for reading :)

‘My beliefs have never changed, Hannibal.’ Said Bedelia, worrying a piece of veal between her teeth with her tongue.

‘And what do you believe?’

‘That you are a step away from the edge of a very tall cliff.’

‘And are you here to push me?’

Max began to clear the plates away with unsteady hands. Her mistress made her nervous, and her dinner companion more so. She could feel his eyes on her, reducing her to a loose collection of meat and organs. She remembered the day she had ran half blind into his chest. She remembered his eyes, opaque, un-human. He had released her wrist and retreated back into the shadows of the front porch, locking the door behind him. He had left her to the mercy of her kidnapper, and that scared her. It scared her that there could be two people in the world crueller than she had ever imagined, and that they had somehow found each other’s company. She moved the dishes to the sink behind the dining table, glad to fade into the background.

  
‘I’m your colleague. I’m only here to help. ’ Bedelia’s smile was practiced and full of malice. Hannibal never noticed. He eyed Max over the top of his wineglass and Bedelia’s smile wilted from inattention.

  
The juice from the veal slid between Max’s hands and the dish she was holding. She watched in horror as it crashed and broke on the marble floor.

There was a silence.

Hannibal replaced his wineglass. ‘I should be leaving. Thank you for a lovely evening, Bedelia.’

He let himself out.

__________________

Hannibal was hungry, and sick of eating out of the freezer. Leaving what he felt was probably imminent chaos behind him, he slicked on his fur-lined leather gloves and got behind the wheel of his car. The Bread and Circus, he decided. A dingy enough bar, full of the arrogant and careless. As he pulled away from Bedelia’s house, he saw the lights in her kitchen go out.

His hurry was spurred on by his frustration. He was partly responsible for putting Bedelia on edge. But if her girl hadn’t broken those dishes, he could have spent at least another hour trying to get under her skin.  As it was, it looked like it was prudent to take his leave.

The road was icy, and he felt a little fuzzy from the wine. It irritated him that even though he didn’t need to touch Bedelia, he still wanted to. He was always careful not to take any more risks than were necessary, and he was confident that she would never risk her freedom by betraying him. But the fact that he spent nights trying to convince himself otherwise, wondering what she tasted like, dreaming of wine pairings (something red?), was a source of private shame. He respected, even liked, Bedelia. But sometimes, after a famine, he felt paralysed by hunger, and became tortured by the image of her parting mouth. She was a source of confusion in his otherwise disciplined life.

As he pulled onto the highway, a man in a Mercedes cut him off, forcing him to brake. Hannibal was relieved. The Bread and Circus did always make him feel a little dirty.

He flashed his lights at the man for at least a mile before he pulled over. When the driver lowered his window, Hannibal could see the veins in his neck standing out, braced for a fight.

‘Good evening.’ He said, smiling charmingly. ‘Please accept my apologies. I couldn’t help but notice that your back tire was slightly loose. I wouldn’t have interrupted your drive, but it’s not safe on a night this damp.’

The man in the car relaxed.

‘You often pull strangers over like this?’ He laughed nervously, but there was an irritated edge to his voice.

‘Only when I think I can help. I’m a mechanic. If you like, I can tighten it for you.’

‘You’re a mechanic?’

Hannibal realised the lie might have been a stretch. He tried an easy laugh.

‘Well, I was a mechanic, in my younger days. And believe me when I say, you wouldn’t want to drive any further on that wheel.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, I wouldn’t want to put you out.’

‘It’s no trouble. If you’ll pull over at the next exit, there should be a rest stop. I have a tool kit in my car.’

The man nodded.

The rest stop was secluded, dark, and shaded by trees. Hannibal went to the trunk of his car and retrieved a toolbox. The driver got out from behind the wheel, hugging himself in the cold. He was a stocky man with an aggressive little moustache.

‘Shouldn’t take a moment.’ Hannibal assured.

‘So what exactly is wrong with it? I just got it serviced. Lazy assholes.’

‘Here, have a look.’ Hannibal kicked the tire with his foot. Biddably, the man crouched down to examine the hubcap. Hannibal raised a wrench and bought it down heavily on the crown of the man’s head. His body fell, and Hannibal dragged it behind the Mercedes. Returning to his own car, he a brought out a bucket from the boot, and used the tap anchored to the ground (presumably for weary travellers) to fill it. He lowered the unconscious man’s head into the water and went to sit in the warmth of his own vehicle. He could afford the first five minutes of _The_ _Goldberg Variations_.  And his carving knife was a little blunt.

_________________________

 

‘You embarrassed me in front of my guest, Max.’

‘Please, Doctor, I’m so sorry.’ Max nearly sobbed.

With very little movement, Bedelia rose from the table, china crunching underneath heels that filled Max’s kneeling gaze.

 ‘Follow me, please. Turn the light out after you.’ Bedelia was stone. Uncertainly, Max rose to follow her into the lounge room that doubled as her practice.

‘Strip.’

Max removed her clothes and knelt on the carpet. She felt Bedelia tie one wrist and then the other behind her back, looping the rest of the length around a discrete hook in the ceiling. She knew it was better not to fight. The angle raised her arms painfully behind her, and forced her torso forward. Her knees touched the legs of Bedelia’s armchair.

Max felt the first sting of the riding crop strike her lower back. Her arms were already beginning to twitch.

‘I would prefer that you remain unobtrusive while I entertain, my pet.’ The crop whistled through the air and landed next to the first blow. Max winced.

‘I’m sorry, Doctor.’

‘But you know that.’ Continued Bedelia, ignoring her. ‘We’ve been through this Max, so many times.’

Bedelia’s blows were getting more feverish, and Max could feel the blood rushing to her back. She rested her forehead on the seat of the armchair.

‘Head up.’ Bedelia hissed, yanking painfully at Max’s hair. She cried out.

‘You’re not what I expected, Max. Perhaps I expect too much. Your strengths clearly lie elsewhere, and you’re prettiest when you’re on your knees.’

Max felt a betraying moisture gather between her legs.  Another blow from the crop landed, hard enough to bruise, and that was when Max knew she was in trouble. Bedelia was always careful not leave any marks.  To her surprise, she felt the doctor’s clinical hand reach between her legs, run a finger over her opening and between her folds. She pinched Max’s clit long and hard, making her cry out, and her nipples harden as the blood flowed back. Bedelia pressed her fingers against Max’s mouth, and Max dutifully sucked them clean. 

Bedelia retrieved something from a draw, and Max felt something strong and vibrating penetrate her. She used a finger to ease the vibrator inside the bound girl before her. Max’s breathing quickened.

She heard Bedelia drop the zip on her skirt, and the soft hush of her stockings as she unravelled them. She used Max’s hair to raise her head, giving her enough room to settle onto the armchair. Her captive’s face was forced between her legs, and a controlling hand made sure she knew what was expected. She began to suck and lick until Bedelia tilted her head back in pleasure.

The vibrator pressed cruelly against Max’s g-spot, but despite Bedelia’s best training efforts, Max couldn’t come. She needed Bedelia’s touch on her clit for release. Max whimpered as pleasure almost overwhelmed her. She felt Bedelia shake, and sucked hard on her clit, using her tongue to stroke the most sensitive part of her. Max’s hot breath teased her mistress as she relaxed, a hand lazily playing with her hair.

Bedelia laughed throatily. ‘Max, you almost make me regret what I’m about to do.’

Extracting herself from the armchair, and retrieving her skirt, Bedelia unhooked Max from the ceiling, unbinding her wrists. She dragged her out onto her back, binding her arms and legs until she was spread-eagled on the floor. Max was becoming desperate with pleasure, and she wriggled, trying to increase the pressure between her legs. Bedelia shoved something into her mouth, muffling her cries. Pinching her nipples until they were hard, she wound a biting string around each. Max began to sweat, and looked at Bedelia wildly. She tried to beg behind her gag, but her cries were ignored.

Bedelia’s hand opened Max’s folds, exposing her. She trailed a finger down and circled her opening, pushing the vibrator deeper. She circled and pinched Max’s clit until her hips rose, and her legs began to shake. Then she pulled back.

‘Look at me, Max.’

Max turned her head to look at Bedelia, who was sitting elegantly beside her. Bedelia grabbed hold of her chin and looked into her eyes.

‘It might be hard for you to remember this in the morning, but I want you to try. This is what happens when you disappoint me.’ Bedelia sunk her nails into one of Max’s tortured nipples, making her close her eyes in pain.

‘I thought I told you to look at me.’ She said, pinching harder. Max’s eyes flew open.

‘This is what happens when you break my things. When you become noticed. When you distract my guests.’

 Bedelia’s pinch became vicious, and tears came to Max’s eyes.

‘Will you remember that?’

Max nodded.

‘We’ll see.’

Bedelia’s hand stroked down her stomach and found Max’s clit once again. Her touch became business-like and Max's breathing became fevered as she stroked. Bedelia moved the vibrator inside her slightly, the tip grazing her g-spot, and Max came violently, arching her back as far as her bonds would allow.

But Bedelia’s hand didn’t waver. It continued to stroke, merciless, and Max tried to move her hips away from her touch. Bedelia held firm until she came again. 

Max was so sensitive, the air felt teasing. Bedelia took something else out of a draw, and Max felt something vibrating attached to her clit. She jolted as if shocked. The intensity was unbearable. Somewhere inside her pleasure began to build, but she bucked her hips in reflex, trying to stem the assault on her nerves. Her hands clenched. She couldn’t take this. It was too much.

Bedelia rose.

‘I’ll come check on you in an hour or so, Max.’

Max closed her eyes as another orgasm swallowed her. Bedelia smiled.

 

\-------------------

Hannibal pulled into his garage a mess. He shouldn’t have drunk so much wine. When the driver’s breathing had stopped, he had laid the man out on his back, and begun to remove his heart, a procedure he had performed a million times before. He must have been more unsteady than usual  - perhaps the scalpel was slippery – and he had knicked an artery. Blood had found its way under his protective suit.

All in all, it had been a terrible night.

But he was finally home, and he hoisted the body over his shoulder, bloody mess though he was. Slipping the key into the lock, he opened the door and stepped inside. It didn’t take long for him to realise something was wrong.

The lights were on, which was not how he left them.  Body still over his shoulder, he took a cautious step into his study.

Freddie Lounds turned around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

 

_Must everyone go through my desk_ , he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Bedelia’s earrings had just clattered onto her bedside table when the phone rang. Hannibal had sounded brisk, and she was both unable and unwilling to press him for information. She wondered if Hannibal knew he was pushing his luck, treating her as if she was at his beck and call. Somewhere deep in her mind, she wondered just how much she would bend to his whim, before she was forced to confront her limited options.

She wasn't sure what she would find at his practice, not even entirely convinced that she wouldn't open the door to find Hannibal standing there with a carving knife pointed in her direction. But as she entered the cavernous lounge, she came to a stop, right foot frozen in motion, mouth parted slightly in surprise. A girl, bare back glistening porcelain, bones almost visible through her thin skin, was bound, face down on the rug, her shoulder blades heaving with short, panicked breaths. Hannibal sat in his armchair, feline in his stillness. Bedelia approached the rug at a considered pace, mouth contracted into a pout as she took in the mound that lay at her feet. One of Freddie’s last memories would be Bedelia’s shoes at the edge of her vision.

“Have you bought me a present, Hannibal?”

“I have a task for you.”

“It is late. I am not here to respond to your every whim.”

“But, nevertheless, you _are_ here.”

Bedelia’s gaze remained steady, fixed on the redhead beneath her. Freddie breathed quickly. Bedelia sensed a slight tremble, like a frightened little rabbit.

“I will not kill for you, Hannibal.”

“Consider it a favour.”

Bedelia crouched down beside Freddie. “I consider it an odd favour. I don’t believe you’ve turned squeamish.”

Nevertheless, she felt her pulse quicken at the thought. There was a time when living flesh had parted, ripped beneath her hand. A time when her girls had never known whether they would see the next day. That was a long time ago. A lifetime. If you indulged every impulse, sooner or later, you would be deprived of all of them. You had to choose. She had chosen. But now, she found herself torn between the desire to feel Freddie’s breath squeeze out from under her hand, and to escape whatever web she knew she had been pulled into.

“No, you misunderstand me. I don't need a favour.' Explained Hannibal, ‘I wish to do you a good turn.'

Bedelia’s finger trailed a fascinated line beside the veins in Freddie’s neck. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She said, slightly breathlessly.

“Are you being coy, Bedelia?” Hannibal’s voice crackled sternly through the tense air. “I want us to be friends.”

Bedelia laughed internally.

“Let me be frank. We find ourselves in a unique situation. I think we should make the best of it, don’t you? I want us to be able to help each other out. This is an offering. Evidence of my good intentions.” Bedelia met Hannibal's gaze. It was the challenge in Hannibal’s eyes that made Bedelia act on impulse. The little flicker of outrage that boiled within her set her hands in motion. Without breaking his stare, she encircled Freddie’s neck, slowly applying pressure. Freddie began twitching. Bedelia was stone. It was only when Freddie was finally still that Bedelia rose.

“Thank you, Hannibal.” She said, as she walked out of his office. Hannibal only smiled.


	4. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have my heart set on one more scene, but if there is anything anyone is craving, please let me know in the comments! I am more than happy to oblige (and it would be a GREAT help).

When Bedelia returned from Hannibal's practice at dawn to let Max loose from her bonds, Max was a quivering mess, barely able to raise herself from the ground. Bedelia regarded her naked, crawling form without pity, or even much attention. The Doctor felt as if doors in her mind were beginning to creak open, doors that were long rusted shut. Possibilities beyond whips and bruises rushed forth, and as her fingers twitched with adrenalin, as Max crawled towards her in supplication, she realised what Hannibal had done to her, what he had purposefully unleashed. _How did he know_ , she wondered. _How did he know what I am_.

Bedelia's heart and breathing slowed. The predatory shift within her felt like a physical presence, a blank coldness that lifted her, firmed the ground beneath her feet. Max didn't notice, and it was that lack of attention more than anything else -- more than drugs, or strength, or lust -- that separated the two women. 

'Please run the bath, Max.' 

Max crawled up the stairs to the bathroom, clearly still cramped and numb. As Bedelia watched her slave unsteadily climb the stairs, she fancied Hannibal must see people much like a butcher might, layers of fat and flesh, meat to be carved and cured. Bedelia saw the potential underneath the physical form. Desperation and mouthed pleading glitched and flickered over Max's naked body. And now, something else born of long abandoned memory. Dripping blood, gashes, bulging eyes and....

Bedelia took a shuddering breath. Some pleasures, it was not wise to indulge. She mounted the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Max felt as if her skin had peeled away, and all beneath was visible. Her lust for the bath she had drawn was as powerful as any hunger she had ever known, and as she shucked her mistress's feet from her shoes, she concluded this must be some new torture, to be made to sit in her slick filth, aching and raw with comfort so close. 

Bedelia's scent, violets and powder, unfurled with her stockings. Max felt nauseous with the fear that came from being in such close proximity to the woman who was the source of so much of her pain, but she removed the Doctor's skirt and blouse without event. Naked, Bedelia wasn't flawless as much as she carried nothing extra, no freckle or unwanted pound of flesh. Her stillness and exactness were articulated by her physical form. 

Bedelia slid into the bath and sighed as the water covered her neck. Max felt the bite of the grout in the tiles as she knelt beside the bath, and began to run a cloth down the woman's body. 

'What did I ask you to remember this morning, Max?' Bedelia's eyes were closed. Max buried the thought of drowning her before it had fully blossomed in her mind, sure that such an idea would be read all too easily, even with Bedelia's eyes closed. Max would betray it through her touch somehow, through her breathing. She ordered her thoughts.

'That if I break your things, I will be punished. That I am not to make myself visible to your guests, Doctor.'

Bedelia reached out a hand to caress Max's curls.  

'Service does not come easily to you , Max. It comes easily to few. Perhaps it will help not to think of yourself as receiving treatment that is less than human, but of being in the service of someone who isn't quite.'

Max ran the cloth tentatively over the Doctor's breasts as her gaze cut her own like ice.

'I feel as if honesty may help your progress, Max. It is not my goal to own you. People do not behave like objects, as much as we might treat them like one. The mind is pliable, and this is key to its survival. It is an organism, continually creating, scrambling for pleasure and relief. I will not reduce you to an object, because I cannot. Instead, the mind must be trained like a vine, weaving with increasing dependency around that which gives it life. Do you understand me?'

'I'm not sure, Doctor.'

Bedelia sat up in the bath, and placed a hand under Max's chin, drawing it towards her.

'You will depend on me Max, for your breath, for pleasure, for sanity. You will learn that only I can provide you with joy and relief. You will only live because your life continues to serve me. And the sooner your mind bends to this concept, the less chance it has of breaking.'

'Yes, Doctor.'

Bedelia's hand forced Max's head between her legs, under the water. As Max opened her mouth to please her, soapy water ran in. Max lost focus as her lungs burned. A powerful hand dragged her head out of the water by her hair. 

'Do not stop.'

She drew a ragged breath as her head was forced under again. Bedelia felt Max's tongue desperately search for her clit, and she pushed her head further between her folds. Max's fingers slid inside her, and Bedelia grated her hips against the pressure on her g-spot. Max's movement began to slow, and bubbles formed on the top of the bath as the last of her oxygen left her lungs. Bedelia wrenched her head to the surface once again.

'You breathe as long as you give me pleasure.'

Max's head was forced under once again. This time her tongue attacked Bedelia in a frenzy, her fingers vicious in their desperation. The pockets of air that were released from Max's lungs caressed the doctor. Bedelia knew she should allow Max to breathe, knew she was pushing her body's limits. It would be so easy, she thought, to leave her under, till her last breath teased her most sensitive parts. The feel of Freddie's skin danced under fingertips, and she longed to feel Max's body shudder as it begged for oxygen. It would be so easy, a dearth of effort.  She came with a gasp, holding Max's head under until the last of her shudders had subsided. The bubbles had stopped. When Max's head was dragged upwards, water spewed forth from her mouth. 

'Please pass me the towel, Max.'

Max's only reply was the sound of her desperate, ragged breath. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

'And is possession important to you, Hannibal?'

Hannibal regarded Bedelia over the rim of his teacup. He believed she really did want to know the answer, this time. 

'Possession is more than just nine tenths of the law. To possess is to truly know something, or someone. Such knowledge can provide safety, comfort.' 

'And what...who...is it you wish to possess?' Bedelia smiled faintly at Max as the girl neatly refilled her teacup. 

Hannibal smiled. 'I suppose, that which poses a threat.'

A silence lulled, in which Max tried to look as unobtrusive as possible. The doctor always behaved as if she had a knife to her throat in this man's presence. Any man who could terrify this woman, a woman who could drug her, steal her from the street, keep her naked and captive, was a man she wanted to avoid.

Hannibal turned his head to Max, crooked his finger at her. She felt her body move forward, pulled by the greater threat, until she stood by his side. Hannibal took her wrist gently, placing a hand on top of hers. 

'She mistreats you.' He smiled, gently. Max gasped as if burned, but her hand stayed in his. Hannibal spoke to Bedelia, though his attention remained focused on Max. 'Some possessions bear our mark. They betray our desires. And our fears. You smell of violets, my dear.' He purred at Max. 'Violets and soap.' 

'Hannibal, she is not a possession. Leave her.' 

'No, I suppose possessions would be of little use to you. You require something else. You need to be fed. We are similar, in that respect.'

'Perhaps it is best if we continue this session another time.'

'I have not been honest with you, Bedelia. I apologise for that. Freddie's death was a gift both to you, and myself.' Max's mind refused the subtext behind Hannibal's words. She shrieked internally. 'But I am scaring your toys. Have my chair, Max.' Hannibal rose and guided her into the chair with a stern grip. 'I think it should provide you with a sufficiently clear view.' 

Hannibal closed the gap between his position and the psychiatrist swiftly, but not before Bedelia had risen and placed the chair between them once again. 'Please, Bedelia. I am not here to harm you.' He offered her his hand. Bedelia took it tentatively. Hannibal guided her into the no-man's-land of distance often loomed between their positions before folding into the only remaining empty seat. Bedelia stood still before him. 

'Our relationship could not long remain so uncomfortably balanced. I feel that Jack would be very interested to know the whereabouts of Freddie's body, or, at least, some of it, and how it came to be in your garden. I also make a habit of leaving my session camera on at night, in case of prowlers. Your attack is not the first interesting footage it has picked up.'

'You would be on that footage yourself.'

Hannibal regarded her skeptically. 'I believe I remained out of view of the lense.'

'What is it you want, Hannibal.' Bedelia was furious with herself, but that could come later. Survival first. 

'Restitution.'

'I'm not sure what you mean.'

'You've seen me in a compromised position. I wish to redress that imbalance. I want to see you...compromised.' 

Bedelia swallowed, almost audibly. 

'Fine.'

'Good. You may begin by unbuttoning your blouse.'

Bedelia refused to lower her gaze as she undid the buttons of her shirt. Her chin raised, she roughly flicked each button open until her breasts lay exposed. 

'Kneel down.'

Bedelia dropped to her knees. Max hardly dare breath. 

'I imagine this is a strange sight for you, Max, accustomed as you must be to Bedelia's current view.' When Max remained silent, Hannibal leaned forward to whisper in Bedelia's ear. 'A person can be possessed. The key lies in the perspective of the possession.'


	6. Chapter 6

Bedelia stared at Hannibal's crotch. His legs were splayed comfortably. Her eyes only closed as his hand came round to entwine itself in her hair, applying forward pressure. She felt, rather than saw, the warmth of his cock part her lips, force itself to the back of her throat and what felt like further. He held her there. She forced herself to meet his gaze. A small smile jerked at the corner of his mouth. 

'The law has a lot to say about possession. It is often a matter of degree. You cannot own a person, but possession does not entirely consist of ownership. A small element is that of control.' Hannibal moved Bedelia lazily, sensuously, along his length. 'To be able to control someone more than they themselves can, to use them against their own interests....that is often indicative of possession. But I will be interested to hear your thoughts. Later.'

Bedelia's thoughts ran in a duality. While preservation and concentration were foremost in her mind --  _The hallmark of an animal in the palm of a predator_ , she thought, bitterly -- the rest was consumed with that of the sole witness to her humiliation. She would punish Max for this. Unfairly, but nevertheless, she would make her scream. 

Bedelia ran her tongue expertly under Hannibal's shaft, making him tilt his head back in smug pleasure. His hand released her head, and daintily blocked her only remaining air supply. Bedelia knew better than to halt. 

'If you wish to breathe, please, say so.'

Bedelia's hands clawed at the arms of the chair, digging into the fabric. She would faint before she endured the humiliation of begging this man for anything, of being gagged with his cock. The back of her throat opened as it scrambled for air. Hannibal took the opportunity to thrust himself roughly into her throat. Her stomach turned as the pressure on her gag reflex worked in concert with her suffocation, but an iron will kept her from gagging. 

From behind, Max noticed with some satisfaction that her mistress's scratching fingers begin to slow, then stop. Bedelia drooped into Hannibal's lap. 

* * *

 

When she awoke, her view was of the ceiling. It could not have been more than seconds since she had passed out, presuming Hannibal restored her air supply soon after. She felt the surface beneath her, and discovered she was laid out on the dinner table. 

'Am I served, Hannibal?' she asked. 

'If you were, you wouldn't know it. I do not play with my food.' Bedelia tilted her head, and saw that Hannibal was guiding Max by the nape of her neck. 'You will notice you are not restrained. I believe consequence is enough to hold you to the table. Is it?'

Bedelia thought quickly. Could she run? Could she defend herself? She balanced her options: gritting her teeth through whatever humiliation Hannibal had planned, or facing an FBI investigation. 

'I require an answer,' Hannibal stated, with a touch of menace to his voice. 

'Yes. It is.' 

Hannibal grabbed Max by the wrist, and roughly twisted it behind her back, forcing her over the table. 

Bedelia raised herself on her elbows. ' _That_ is not yours, Hannibal.' she seethed, her first display of anger for the night. Hannibal roughly threw Bedelia's legs apart. She allowed a small, angry breath to escape between her teeth. 

'But _you_ are.' Pinning Max down against the table, Hannibal grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head uncomfortably up, chin resting on the table between her mistress's legs. 'Do as she trained you.' he commanded. 

'Touch me and you will regret it. Your nightmares are nothing compared to the pain that will visit you.' threatened Bedelia. 

Max felt Hannibal's crotch pushed up against her. She heard her heart in her ears. 

'A predicament, Max. May I suggest a solution: consider who is the greatest threat. Perhaps you may also wish to consider whether you would like to see yourself on this table, paired with merlot.' The threat was all she needed to begin teasing her mistress with her tongue. 

'Good.' Hannibal stroked her hair. Max felt Bedelia tense underneath her mouth. She slipped a finger inside her, stroking.

Blood rushed to Bedelia's cheeks. 

'Relax, Doctor. This doesn't have to be entirely unpleasant.'

'I will not come to please you.' clipped Bedelia. 

'No? Then this will be a test of your girl's skills. It is terrible manners to come before your mistress. She will have to please you before she herself has any release.'

As Max worked, Hannibal roughly pulled down her skirt and underclothes, exposing her. He parted her legs, and she felt his finger graze her opening, and heard his belt slither from his waist. To her surprise, the leather was bound tightly around her breasts, crushing them to her torso painfully. Under Bedelia's training, her body responded to the pain, and she gave a muffled cry of pleasure. Hannibal began milking her clit in small tugs, pinching her crushed nipples as he did so. Max's legs began to tense. 

'Concentrate, Max.' 

Hannibal slipped a sole finger inside of her, moving it in and out. Her muscles clenched, trying to find purchase. As her orgasm built, Hannibal removed his attentions. 

'You will need to try harder, my little whore.' he admonished. 

Max mirrored his movements inside her mistress. Bedelia's moisture slicked over her lips. She heard her gasp. 

'Better.' Hannibal's hand returned, excruciatingly slow. His other made lazy, firm circles over clit. Max rifled through her memory. Times when Bedelia had chained her in a position just like this, arms locked to the table, legs spread by a bar.  _Faster, Max._  Her muscles almost convulsed at the memory of the electric shocks.  _I will never wait longer than seven minutes._

Max licked beneath Bedelia's clit, increased the pressure inside of her. Using her teeth to gently gain purchase, she sucked hard on her clit, flicking it occasionally with her tongue. She felt the muscles inside her mistress twitch, heard her breathing increase. 

' _Fuck_  you, Hannibal.' Bedelia cursed, in a rare flustered display. Max saw her nails scratch the table. 

Hannibal spread Max's cheeks with his free hand, began circling the opening to her ass. Max bit back a yelp as something cold, cylindrical entered her. Hannibal removed his hand from inside her. 

'Every time I feel your muscles clench around me, this will happen.' An awful, sharp prick attacked the inside of Max's ass. The shock made her bite down, and Bedelia cried out. 

'I will make you _scream_ for that.' she threatened. 

Hannibal's hand returned, his attention focused solely on her gspot. She struggled to control her internal muscles, which spasmed on reflex. A horrible burning followed. 

'Submit, Max. Let this happen to you.'

Max let the pleasure build inside her as Hannibal expertly stroked her, correcting her with electricity, pulling her back from orgasm, every time she tightened. Max became desperate. She removed her mouth from Bedelia.

' _Please Doctor.'_ she begged, almost tearfully. 

Hannibal only chuckled.

It was an effort to concentrate on her mistress and hold herself open, controlled, at the same time. As Max became more desperate, her hand became rough and fast. Bedelia cried, frustrated, as pleasure built inside her. Max could tell she was trying to fight her own body, but the fear of contradicting her mistress paled next to her own desperation for relief. As Bedelia's breathing increased, Max worked by memory, sucking and stroking by what was now long practice. Bedelia came with an angry cry,  spasming around her hand as Hannibal held her head in place. Her own orgasm washed over her almost unconciously, as if entirely at Hannibal's whim and not from her own body. Her own cry was muffled between Bedelia's legs. 

Hannibal removed the plug from Max. 

'You may dress.'

Bedelia's eyes were closed as she lay panting on the table. Max crawled on the floor to retrieve her clothing. 

'Do not bother.' her mistress commanded. Max froze on her hands and knees. She watched Hannibal's shoes retreat through the door. 

'Yes, Doctor.' she said.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Bedelia and Max had never really had a real conversation, only professional dialogues. As a medical intern, Max was often harried. Bedelia was the opposite, to the extent that Max had never seen her out of heels, a ridiculous extravagance no first year doctor could justify on a busy ward. Max admired Bedelia's professionalism, her grace, but most of all she admired her knowledge. Bedelia was a walking textbook, if a textbook had years of first hand experience to temper its advice. Only on contract to the psychiatric ward, Max's encounters with Bedelia were never frequent, and often viewed through the vague haze of panic and stress. Perhaps the adrenalin sharpened her admiration: Max had seen Bedelia hold down frightened patients with a hand, and she had never struggled to find a vein.

Bedelia and Max could never have been considered close. That was by design. No one would ever wake up in the middle of the night thinking they should tell the police to search the psychiatrist's office, or to ask Bedelia where Max had gone (they were _such_ close friends). Bedelia remained untouched by the odd disappearance of the hospital's most promising young intern, but this was not unusual. Bedelia remained untouched by most things.

As rope bit into Max's throat, she recalled the little odd things Bedelia did, that now seemed more significant, like the relish with which she tightened leather straps on a gurney. Max had always thought she was a kind person, visiting those studying late at night, comforting those unfortunate students punished by a doctor for some minor transgression. She'd seemed to have an affinity for the unfairly, or too harshly punished. Max had thought at the time that it was kindness. But Bedelia wasn't comforting. She was studying, if that was the right word. Studying, like a shark studies its prey.

But Max was never late to her shift, never failed in a diagnosis, always had the right answer to questions posed by those more senior. Bedelia had never counselled Max, had never studied her. Surely she'd never made her weaknesses known.

Max remembered the first time she saw Hannibal and Bedelia in the same room. They belonged somewhere else, away from the squalor of the hospital. In the court of some palace, maybe. Neither made a ripple in the air. They parted it like an Olympic diver parts the water. Bedelia had admitted a patient of hers, and she was smiling thinly while signing a document. Hannibal had walked up to her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and whispered something in her ear. His gaze lingered on hers as he pulled away, smiling. That was it. At the time, Max wondered what the man could have said to make Bedelia frown at the clipboard with a gaze that saw past her writing and into the soul of some unsolvable equation. She had wondered at the nature of their relationship. 

There was one occasion....one that was....unlike the others? They had been discussing a patient. Not something that they did often. Max had asked if she had treated many with catatonia. The woman in question had been the victim of a savage attack, and retreated somewhere inside herself, coming out only to blink. Max had felt for her, and had wanted to help. Bedelia had replied that she had seen some, but treated none. "It is a defense. A place someone runs when they feel they have nowhere left to hide. Which is, as I suppose you can see, not true. I've often wondered how pliable a person is in this state, and how much further they have to retreat.'

Max never found those statements quoted in any textbook.

* * *

 

Bedelia felt that the whole display had been both uncouth and unnecessary. She had underestimated the persuasive, charismatic power Hannibal could wield. Oh, one could argue that the threat of death can make a person perform terrible acts, but there were worse things than death. Bedelia often saw relationships as a series of checks and balances, and was dismayed at the thought that months with Max were not enough to outweigh Hannibal's touch. 

She lowered herself from the table and gazed at the back of Max's neck, some hair still clinging to her nape, sticky with sweat. She had taken Max because she had needed someone who would not break in her service. Someone smart enough to be a companion, but who was not and would never be her equal. Max had given Bedelia her arm that night as meekly as a lamb. 

'You were asking about anesthesia yesterday.'

'Yes! I was.'

'Let me show you something.'

Bedelia had taken Max by the wrist, turned her arm upwards. 'Will you roll up your sleeve for me?'

Max had done so, obediently. Bedelia had produced a needle, had pricked her with it before Max could pull away. She had collapsed on the floor at her feet before she was able to fully vocalise her surprise. Her trust had been a good sign, Bedelia had thought. Now she wasn't so sure.

'Crawl to the basement. Do it quickly.' Max hurried to obey. 

Bedelia took the time to set herself to rights. Leisurely, gathering equipment along the way, she followed her slave downstairs. 

The basement was as much a dungeon as anything else. Bedelia had toyed with terms, but why call it something it was not? It was a place to keep unfinished...companions. A place to punish, and in the past, a place to dispose. 

Bedelia caught up with Max as her hands touched the basement floor. Passing her, she collected her by the hair, and dragged her stumbling to the middle of the room. 

'Is it that you think I would not want to see you served on my dinner table, or that you do not think me capable?' asked Bedelia. Max did not reply.  Bedelia slapped her, hard, across the face. Max let out a thin gust of air. 

'I believe you responded to the most immediate threat. Let's make some of my threats more immediate.' With her heel, she pushed Max to her back, crouching on her heels to search between her legs, deeply and thoroughly. 

'You feel well used, but not by me.' she mused, feeling Max shake underneath her. Standing, Bedelia placed a small foot on Max's chest, and produced a whip. With precision, she began on her thighs, enjoying the marks like tallies across the milk of her legs. At an even pace, she marked red welts across her abdomen, her ribs, and her chest, until Max was striped as if for some odd ritual. She felt her squirm underneath her foot. 

Discarding the whip, she looped a careless rope around Max's neck. 'If you will behave like an animal, I will treat you like one.' Pushing on her back to lever the rope tighter, Bedelia attached it to her arms and legs, tying Max so that any movement put pressure on her throat. Bedelia looked at her prey, writhing on the floor, her breath sharp. 

 

'Control your breathing. You will be here a while.' 

 

And with some effort, Bedelia turned and walked up the stairs, shutting the door behind her, leaving Max on the dark floor. 

* * *

 

Max lost track of time. At the beginning, she was focused on seconds, minutes, and each felt infinite. But as time wore on, she counted her imprisonment by the number of times the door to her cell opened. Bedelia, rarely speaking, would visit sporadically, and always to sate some need. At the start, Max felt that each time her breath was cut short, or her skin torn, was intended as some punishment, but the line began to blur in her mind between punishment and acts clearly performed for the doctor's pleasure. More than pain, Bedelia enjoyed seeing Max wild with desire, reduced to an animal under her touch. Often, she would visit her cell only to tease her, keeping her on edge for hours, invading every private part of her until she felt no longer a person, but a collection of wants. She was always tied open, available, although the positions would vary. She was warned never to close herself again. 

Max hung from the wall when she saw the door open for the final time. She smelled Bedelia's perfume as the doctor stood before her, sliding fingers inside her in a way designed to make her gasp. 

'I love hearing you make that sound, Max.' Max felt leather trace its way down her side. Without warning, it landed sharply between her legs. The effect was painless, but blood rushed to her clit, making it throb in excruciating pleasure. Another blow landed almost soundlessly. Max moaned. 

'Would you like to come upstairs with me tonight?'

Max thrust her hips towards her captor in vain. 

'Yes doctor. More than anything. Please.'

Bedelia's answer was another hard blow. 

'Then we will set rules. You will remain in my bedroom. You will live as furniture does: silent, and there to be used. There will be no more chances. Do not push me. Disobey me again and I will have no further need of you.'

'Yes doctor.'

Bedelia unchained Max from the wall. She fell in a crumpled heap at her feet. 

'What do you say, my pet?' Bedelia lifted her chin with the crop.

'Thank you doctor.'

'You are welcome. Go.'

 As Bedelia watched Max scurry, she let out a silent breath. Maybe now she could stop. Maybe now, she could find other ways to dull her....addiction. There had been too many. And soon, someone would notice. 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Hannibal smelt her perfume before he heard her speak.

 ‘This has to end.’

He turned from his desk to face her, abandoning his papers. 

‘What do you propose?’ 

A doctor’s bag hung in place over the crook of her arm. Hannibal admired her camouflage, her ability to refrain from any nervous twitch or fidget. It made her seem both at home and a striking accent in his decor.  Her head tilted slightly. 

‘What could be greater than our… friendship?’

Hannibal strode deliberately toward her, reached out a hand to examine the ends of her hair on the pads of his fingers. She rocked backwards instinctively, but a look forced her still. The back of his hand traced her jawline. His body apart from hers by only the slightest margin, he bent his head, took in her perfume. He didn’t need his nose to read the desire and conflict pouring from her in equal measure. 

‘I already have everything I want.’ He stated, softly. Walking forward, he forced her to retreat in an awkward dance that ended at the wall. Trapping her against the plaster with the weight of his body, he reached a hand behind her back to entwine her hair between his fingers, pulling until her throat was taught. Bedelia made no noise, betrayed no increase of breath. But as his lips mouthed at the soft parts of her neck -- teeth barely restrained as if begging to tear a rent in her flesh -- he felt her lips part, her eyes close.

Was that entirely the truth? Was this everything?  It certainly wasn’t permanent. Bedelia was no fool. He could not keep her, beholden to him, forever. 

‘A trade.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Bedelia’s voice was clear, if strained from the angle of her neck. Hannibal stepped away, his eyes piercing hers.

‘Max.’

‘Why?’ It was more a statement than a question, containing both caution and outrage. 

‘You will no longer be obliged to uphold our arrangement. Your nature will remain hidden. You may visit Max when you please, use her in whatever way you desire. But this arrangement exists only as long as she remains here.’

A gamble, to pit his discipline against hers. How long before he was tempted to force a climax to his desire? To bring a very final end to their arrangement? But he knew Bedelia. Her lusts had a fiercer nature than his, a force. His actions were a choice. A lifestyle.  Bedelia’s killing was life. Without it, she would wilt. How long could she deny herself something she must have seen as a forgone conclusion? Max would not outlive her mistress. And her death would force Bedelia even further into Hannibal’s debt. 

Bedelia blinked slowly. Betraying nothing, she answered. 

‘Fine.’

…

The women arrived late in the evening. Hannibal noticed something had changed in their dynamic. Bedelia seemed freer than the last time they had all met. She had greeted Hannibal with a kiss on the cheek, handed him her coat with slight chagrin. She no longer seemed to watch Max out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps he had done them both a favor. 

Hannibal had insisted on serving at dinner. Entering his kitchen was an honor. But he allowed Max to pour the sweet dessert wine discreetly from the table positioned behind the armchairs where he and Bedelia now sat, something she did with great grace and concentration.  Bedelia seemed content to stare into the fire, like a cat lounging in the sun. Not asleep. Merely conserving energy for a time more deserving.  Hannibal turned his attention to Max. Reaching behind him, he gently took hold of her wrist, guiding her until she stood between them.

‘My dear, how are you?’

He saw her shoulders stiffen, eyes darting slightly to Bedelia, who waived a hand in her direction, eyes fixed on the fire. Hannibal smiled slightly, waited patiently for an answer. 

‘Well, sir.’

She had not lost herself, after everything, Hannibal noted. The determined, focused medical student showed itself in every syllable of her speech. Hannibal felt a stab of admiration for Bedelia. 

‘This is fine work,’ he acknowledged. He turned Max’s wrist, baring her arm. It would take a keen eye to spot the marks and slight scarring beneath the skin. ‘To grind someone down so completely, leaving their identity intact, is no small achievement.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bedelia, wearily. ‘Perhaps I should go into business.’

Perhaps she should. That he would like to see. He stood, and holding Max by the shoulders, he guided her slightly forward, the armchairs forming a perfect audience. He grabbed Max by the chin, tilted her face to the light. She was slightly shorted than he was, and taller than her mistress, though memory would often imagine the reverse.  He ran his hands down her arms, over her hips, his touch firm. She neither flinched, nor braced herself for a blow. She wore some slight, silky piece of clothing, part negligee, part evening dress. Almost decent for company. Positioning himself behind her, he slipped one thin strap off her shoulder. 

‘Tell me Bedelia, how is it done?’

She turned her sharply in his direction. 

He slipped the other strap from Max’s shoulder, tugging at her dress so that it fell to her hips, baring her torso. She still bore marks down her back, long strips of shiny skin. He gathered her hair tightly above her head, holding her more erect than before, pushing out her breasts. 

He placed a hand on her throat. ‘Do you like to see the air leave them? Do you like to feel it beneath your hands as their eyes beg? Do you need to see the blood?’ 

Bedelia stood, angry. Hannibal shoved Max to the ground at her feet. ‘Or are you merely a predator of convenience?’ Max’s gown pooled around her knees, skin glowing slightly in the light. Her torso lifted and fell as she regained her breath. 

‘I am not an animal.’ Bedelia hissed. ‘You cannot trap me.’ Her hand had dropped to grab Max’s hair, roughly, territorially. 

Hannibal had turned his back, had walked to his desk. He readied a syringe and held it up the light. 

 ‘I do not intend to. You will make your own choices.’

He walked toward Max. ‘It is only valium.’ He comforted her softly, before the needle bit. She melted softly at Bedelia’s feet. Hannibal scooped her up effortlessly from the floor, cradling her in his arms. 

‘Please, Bedelia. Follow me.’


	9. Chapter 9

Max woke to the dense smell of cigarette smoke. She inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. Cigarettes had often been the fleur de lis on the fabric of her night. It had been a while since she had smoked, and she felt wonderful. She curled her toes into the plush carpet beneath her bare feet, her nails digging into the varnish of the armchair in which she apparently sat. Slowly, she began to be aware of her surroundings, but not with any urgency. Shoulderblades rubbed against thin velvet, a cool air teased between her open legs. Her arms and legs were strapped, and that was of some light concern, but Max loathed to ruin this beautiful fog with anxiety. 

'She is awake.'

Max struggled to open her eyes at the intruding voice. Her vision sharpened into an image of Hannibal and her mistress standing close to one another. Bedelia's hand rested on her restraint. She hadn't even felt it. The two doctors gazed intently at each other, something unspoken passing between them. Hannibal placed his still burning cigarette between Bedelia's lips, intimately. Almost lovingly. She took it between two fingers as she inhaled. Curls of smoke played around their heads in the lamplight, twisted and contorting, punctured by Bedelia's exhalation. Slowly, Bedelia turned to Max, and bent to curl a dark lock behind the girl's ear.

'Alright, Hannibal. I will show you what games we play.'

Bedelia undid Max's straps. 'Come, girl.' she beckoned, striding to the opposite end of the lounge. Max dropped to her knees and followed Bedelia's heels as gracefully as she could. They halted by a small end table. 

'Undress me.' 

Sitting back on her heels, Max automatically reached for the sharp, patent leather shoes. They glinted in the firelight, the women's shadows dark points in the glistening leather. Bedelia stood certain and still, raising each foot till Max had freed her feet, placing each show with some reverence by the hearth. Max slid her hands devotedly up the the backs of Bedelia's calves, feeling the static prick her palms. Her heart raced. At some point, Max's fear had blossomed into worship, into lust. Her hands pulled at the waist of the stockings, and careful not to cause any tear, she rolled them smoothly down Bedelia's smooth legs, dispensing with the garment. Max rose and reached for the buttons of Bedelia's blouse, so focused on the order of the ritual she had not noticed her Mistress reach to the end table and procure two savage clips, attached to a long length of cord. As Max freed the first button, a piercing bite ravaged the soft points of her breasts, and she gasped. Viscous clamps imprisoned her nipples with sharp teeth. Bedelia took advantage of her shock to clasp both her wrists in a hand, pulling them above Max's head, displaying her tortured breasts. 

Bedelia wrapped cord around Max's wrists, binding them. 

'Kneel.' She ordered. Max collapsed at her feet, her face flushing from the pain. In her hand, Bedelia held the two cords attached to the cruel clamps as if grasping a leash. 

Across the room, Hannibal had taken advantage of Max's vacated seat. He tapped an unlit cigarette on the arm of the chair. 'Perhaps we should explain to the girl her situation.'

Max held her back upright, attempting to ease the pressure on her breasts. Bedelia pulled the cords all the more tight. Her voice floated down to Max as if from a great height. 

'If you like. Max, Hannibal and I have made an ....arrangement.' The word was as bitter and cold as snow. 'You are to live here. For the forseeable future.' Max raised her head to regard Bedelia in panic. She felt a stab of loss. Bedelia reached down a hand to stroke her hair in a rare display of tenderness. 'You will always be mine, my dear. And I will see you often.' 

'Doctor.' Max whispered, as if wishing to hide her words from the man across the room. 'What will I do here?'

'Perhaps we should ask.' Bedelia turned coolly to face her new partner. Hannibal smiled thinly. 

'Max, you will serve a need, much as you do currently. I do not expect you will find the change that great. You will obey me in all things unquestioningly, or there will be consequences. I will owe you nothing, no courtesy or explanation, as you are nothing. You will be cared for as I care for any of my things. You will exist as long as you are useful. And you will call me Master, so that we may avoid confusion. There are perhaps too many doctors in this room.'

Max saw for the first time something more than the need to dominate and possess, a flash of flint like cruelty, and a hunger that could match her mistress, although she did not know what would sate it. Hannibal addressed Bedelia. 'This is acceptable?' 

With a trace of irony, she replied. 'Of course.' 

Hannibal nodded.

'Please continue.'

Bedelia spoke to Max quietly, icily. 'Remove his shirt.' Max hesitated only a moment, unsure of how to proceed without her mistress leading. She made to move forward, but Bedelia remained still. The bite on her breasts made her wince. Bedelia did not loosen her grip. She reached into the draw and drew out a vicious looking whip as she warned 'I will not ask you again.'

Max understood the game. She was to free herself, writhing and twisting, deciding which pain was greater. Bedelia wrought a sharp strike down Max's back, making her throw back her head in pain. She began to pull, feeling her nipples stretch, the clamps biting harder. Bedelia was relentless, striking Max's well worn flesh at a heartlessly even pace. Max felt as if her chest was on fire, surely she was bleeding, surely there was no way out of this cruel trap without damage. She thrashed helplessly, tears welling in her eyes. The two agonies built until she could no longer hold them within her, and crying out she threw herself suddenly to the ground. The clamps scraped free. 

She pressed her sore breasts into the carpet, hoping to soothe their throbbing. She panted, breathless, but could tell with some relief that she remained intact. Blood rushed back into the nipples, bringing with it agony and warm fire. Max felt Bedelia appear beside her, and a fierce burning as the doctor ran her nails down her raw back.

'Go.'

Max threw herself forward in desperation, landing with her head on Hannibal's lap. He smelled like smoke and cologne. His hands grasped her wrists, undoing her bonds with a small flourish. Max lifted her head. There was no kindness in his face, only a predatory searching. She reached timidly for his shirt. 

Hannibal was so quick she had no time to react. Fiercely, with an almost animal rage, he batted away her hands and scooped her up roughly in one arm, carrying her to a nearby table. He threw her down, and loomed over her, stopping as suddenly as he began. He studied her face, a cat regarding a mouse. His hand slid up her side and pinched one of her tortured nipples roughly. Max opened her mouth to cry out, and Hannibal took the opportunity to fill it with his tongue. His kiss was not selfish, and despite her pain, this surprised Max. His tongue was teasing, hungry, neat; his lips pushed at hers, controlling her response. He seemed to drink from her. When he raised his head from hers, he breathed deeply. Stepping backward, he took hold of Max's legs and dragged her to the edge of the table. Her back stuck to the varnished wood and pulled as she was brought into position. His hair disheveled, he spread Max's legs wide. Max heard the snick of a lighter, as somewhere in the room, Bedelia lit a rarely indulged cigarette. 

Hannibal ran his hands down the inside of Max's thighs. Max felt one of Bedelia's hands cup her by the chin, holding Max's gaze fixed to the ceiling. Hannibal's fingers were devastating. One hand spread her while the other searched, circling, firm. Max's hips rocked. Desire taunted her, steadily excruciating. Briefly, she wondered what need this served of Hannibal's. His fingers pressed her opening, until she could feel a lust itch from a spot deep inside her, begging to be touched. When his fingers entered her, it was sudden and rough. Her head tried to thrash, but Bedelia held her firm. FIngers stoked fast and almost painfully, making Max writhe. Then, as soon as they had started, they stopped. Hannibal stepped back slightly, and Max heard the slick of his belt as it was removed. 

Hannibal was slower this time. When he entered her, it was perfunctory, almost medical. Slowly, he slid himself inside Max, forcing her further and further apart. Max breathed deeply, attempting to control her desire. Hannibal's long, slow thrusts were torturous. She attempted to grind against him, but he forced her hips to the table. Holding her down, he pushed into her deeply. Max felt herself pulse, attempting to increase her own pleasure. A violent warmth bloomed in her chest. Her mouth lay open, and she moaned. 

Hannibal stopped. Slowly he stepped back, and Max almost whimpered, desperate, as she heard Hannibal dress. His hands grabbed her by the shoulders, raising her upward. 

'Max, please lie on the carpet.' Heavy lidded with lust, Max climbed down from the table, feeling wet and used. Gently, she let herself fall back on the rug that lay in front of the fire. From a distance, she saw Hannibal take Bedelia's hand. He relieved her of her cigarette. 

Bedelia walked toward her, kneeling down. Her eyes flitted from her mouth, to her breasts, to the well used space between her legs.

Bedelia reached out a hand and stroked down Max's side. She reached between her legs, and teased, making Max arch her back in desire. Bedelia straddled Max, lowering herself until she covered her mouth. A hand slid behind Max's head, pressing her into her mistress. Bedelia tossed her head back, exhaling as Max's practiced tongue worked her in a familiar rhythm. Max began to feel warm, content, lulled by the fire and unsatisfied lust, until a shadow crossed her vision. She raised her gaze as much as she could, and gave a muffled cry. Hannibal loomed over her, a knife in his hands. Bedelia looked at him, shocked. 

'Hannibal, what are you doing?' she asked.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Guys! I did it! I finished my first thing!

Hannibal knelt quickly beside the pair. He placed the edge of the knife between Max's breasts. Unable to see past Bedelia and too afraid to stop, Max closed her eyes, trying to calm her panic. Bedelia gathered Max's hands and pinned them to the floor with her own. 

Max felt a sharpness as her skin burst under the knife. It was only a shallow cut, but its threat made her thrash underneath Bedelia's small weight. Max's discomfort seemed only to increase her desire. Max heard an exhalation, saw a torrent of smoke rise to the ceiling. Searing heat crumbled onto the fresh wound, and she tried to scream as the ash blistered her flesh. Above her, Bedelia moaned. 

'Let me show you something.' Hannibal tempted. With what seemed like some effort, Bedelia rose from Max, smoothly letting her skirt fall back into place. Max gasped, catching her breath. She looked down at her chest, a mess of ash and blood, but a much smaller mess than the pain attached to it. Max turned her head and watched Hannibal lead Bedelia to the table. He had been busy while they were distracted. 

Bedelia reached out to touch something on the table. Her long, delicate fingers moved between each object, spreading them apart, examining. 

'You are not subtle.' she chastised. 

'Max. Here.' Hannibal commanded. Max obeyed. Hannibal raised her by the hair, draping her over the table so that she lay beside the objects. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see thin knives and blunt iron, smooth rope, and what looked like a surgeons tool kit. Max regretted her medical training. Better to only imagine the horrors that could be wrought with that intimidating steel. More horrifying still was Bedelia's fascination with the tools. She stroked them reverently, lightly, as if they were pieces in a museum. 

Max's legs and head hung off each end of the table, only her torso supported by the mahogany. While Bedelia studied the objects, Hannibal strapped Max's limbs to each table leg. Her head hung limply in defeat. She could feel her cut split apart slightly beneath her weight. Her body flushed and throbbed, heavy and open with need.

Hannibal idly reached between her legs. She moaned helplessly as her tired body responded. 

'Choose, Bedelia. If you are careful, it will do you no harm.' he offered. 

After a slight hesitation, Bedelia tossed an object at Hannibal without comment. She strode confidently toward the head of the table. Max saw the grey serge of her skirt fill her vision before a stinging slap brought stars to her eyes. Max gasped. A second blow rained down on her other cheek. In the background, Max heard the ring of leather through belt buckle. Hannibal grabbed her hips and forced himself into her, causing her stomach to leap. Each thrust was hard, making her raise her head, stretching her throat. Hannibal bent to scrape his teeth down her still sore back. 

Bedelia reached, and Max heard something begin to hum. In her hand she wielded something long and thin. Regarding it, the Doctor sighed.

'Hannibal, I was never much of an artist.' 

Hannibal's reply was slightly breathless. He bent over Max as a thrust tortuously into her, a fist on the table helping his balance. His hair hung in his eyes. 'I disagree.' he answered, a hand grabbing at Max's flesh. 'I've seen your work.'

Bedelia swept up Max's hair, leaving her neck bare. The humming grew louder as sharp pain touched her neck, hot and irritating. She cried out in shock. Bedelia braced Max's head against her thigh. As she illustrated, Hannibal continued to invade her at a steady pace. Max seemed to melt where he touched. Unable to thrash under Bedelia's firm hand, she contented herself with gritted teeth. He pinched and bullied her thighs, breaking any concentration she mustered to control the pain at the nape of her neck. She sweated and pleaded, but the pair remained cruelly focused. Hannibal never seemed to grow tired, moving as if wanting to pierce her, tear her apart. After what seemed like hours, the needle on her neck was silenced. Bedelia pressed something soft against the now raw flesh. Max was unable to see her artistry, a bold H and B intertwined in cursive script. But she could feel the satisfaction emanating from her mistress. Hannibal thrust again and stopped. He examined Bedelia's work approvingly. 

Putting down her tool, Bedelia hitched up her skirt and pressed herself into Max. Hannibal tossed something toward her, and Max felt two tails of rope land on her back. Bedelia caught the loop, and fit it snugly under Max's chin. Hannibal released Max's hips to grasp the two loose ends and pulled. Max's chin was lifted upwards, her neck caught in a suffocating position between the bite of the rope and Bedelia's grasp on her hair. Hannibal began to move inside her, pulling on the rope as if on the reigns of an animal. The varnish of the table gathered under Max's nails as she struggled for breath. She used her lips to part Bedelia, her tongue searching for the parts of her that made her gasp. Bedelia pushed into her, overwhelming, hungry. 

'Tell me if you would like her to breathe.' Hannibal asked, a note of challenge underlying his breathless desire. Max felt his fingers search under her, stroking, pressing. Her mouth lost its focus as heat flooded her brain, causing Bedelia to pull her hair tightly. Max felt her limbs relax as she struggled for oxygen. Each fast, short breath satisfied her less. With each stolen gasp, Bedelia grew more fevered, rocking into her. Max felt as if her body were two separate parts, owned by their purpose, defined by their use. 

Her vision became confused. Hannibal tightened his grip on the rope. Max was feeling, no thought, only a mix of desire and pain and a desperation to survive. Her tongue grew thick in her mouth as she lapped and teased. Bedelia shuddered, tossing back her head, her hand savagely pressing Max into her, causing the rope to crush her throat. Hannibal was ceaseless, thrusting into her with force. Bedelia's exhalation was part cry as she grabbed at Max's hair, her hips pressing into mouth, forced by her climax. Finally, she was still, and released Max, bracing herself on the table. Her blonde hair falling over her face as she panted. 

'Let her breathe.' she exhaled. 

'As you wish.' Hannibal sounded disappointing. 

The rope slackened around Max's throat, and she drew a ragged, vocal breath. To her agony, Hannibal stopped, stepping away from her, leaving her almost mid touch. Empty, unsatisfied and used. 

Hannibal turned to find a mirror in which to adjust his clothes. 'Am I to assume this arrangement will work to your satisfaction?'

Bedelia lifted her head to catch his eye in the mirror. The hint of a smile played around the corners of her mouth. She swept a wet lock of her away from Max's tattoo.

'Yes.' For a time. 'Yes. This will work.'


End file.
